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Dozois, Gardner - Little People! / Дозуа, Гарднер - Маленький народец! [2013, EPUB, ENG]

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Gardner Dozois & Jack Dann - Little People!

Название: Little People! / Маленький народец!
Год выпуска: 2013
Под редакцией: Dozois, Gardner & Dann, Jack / Дозуа, Гарднер & Данн, Джек
Издательство: Baen
eISBN: 978-1-62579-149-8
Формат: EPUB
Качество: eBook
Язык: английский

Описание:
Эльфы, феи, гномы, гремлины, пикси ...
    Working With the Little People / Вместе с маленьким народцем by Harlan Ellison
    United Imp / «Юнайтед Имп» by L. Sprague de Camp
    A Cabin on the Coast by Gene Wolfe
    Cargo by Theodore Sturgeon
    Housing Problem / Жилищный вопрос by Henry Kuttner and C. L. Moore
    The Goobers / Арахисы by Avram Davidson
    Fairy Tale by Jack Dann
    A Gift of the People by Robert Sampson
    Trouble with Water / Трудности с водой by H. L. Gold
    Send No Money by Gardner Dozois and Susan Casper
    The Hob by Judith Moffett
The Goobers


By Avram Davidson


When I was a boy I lived for a while after my folks both died with my grandfather and he was one of the meanest, nastiest old men you’d ever want to know, only you wouldn’t’ve wanted to’ve known him. He had a little old house that there was nothing in the least cute or quaint about and it smelled of kerosene and bacon grease and moldy old walls and dirty clothes. He must’ve had one of the largest collections of tin cans filled up with bacon grease around there in those parts. I suppose he was afraid there might be a shortage of this vital commodity some day and he was sure as Hell going to be prepared for it.
The dirty old kitchen had two stoves, one wood and one kerosene, and although the thicket out behind the house had enough dead brush and timber in it to heat the place for years he was too damned lazy to swing an axe. Same thing with the clothes. Rather than pay a woman to do a laundry or perish forbid he should actually do it himself, he just let the clothes accumulate and then he’d go through it and use the least dirty ones all over again. Finally, every so often it would get so bad that none of the other kids wanted to sit next to me and the teacher’d talk to the neighbors and then one or the other of them who happened to have a gasoline-powered washing-machine of the old-fashioned sort would come by with one of her kids and a wagon and a couple of bushel baskets.
“I don’t know how you let things get into such a condition, Mr. Harkness,” she’d say, wrinkling up her nose and breathing through her mouth. “You load these things up and I’ll wash’m for you, for pity’s sake, before they fester on you! You’ll both wind up in the pest house before you know it. Mercy!”
And the old turd would hobble around trying to look debilitated when actually he was as limber as a blacksnake when he wanted to be, frowning and making motions at me to get busy and trot the clothes out, and all the while he’d be whining things like, “I sure do thank you, Miz Wallaby . . .” or whatever in the Hell her name was, “I don’t know what we’d do without our neighbors, as the Good Book says. I’m just a poor sick old man and this boy is too much for me, it’s not right I should have such a burden thrust upon me in the decline of my life, I haven’t got the strength for it, no I haven’t ma’am, he’ll be the death of me, I predict, for he won’t work and he won’t listen and he won’t obey,” and so on and so forth.
Then, once she was out of sight and hearing, he’d sit back in his easy chair that had the bottom sprung out of it and he’d smirk and laugh and carry on about how he’d sure gotten the best of that deal, all right.
. . .
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